


unfamiliarity

by gnnyweasleys



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Affairs, Angst, Cheating, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29196663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnnyweasleys/pseuds/gnnyweasleys
Summary: She had long since grown from the comfort of classics to the thrill of unfamiliarity.
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	unfamiliarity

❃

He moved to her town unexpectedly. Hawkins, Indiana was the movie-like definition of a small town; everybody knows each other, doors get left unlocked because nothing exciting happens in Hawkins.

And when he moved to town she didn't care, had heard from her dad that he was there and knew he didn't like him very much and his name was Michael but Jane's nose was far too deep into a book for her to worry about a new guy in town. She doubted he was the trouble people were making him out to be.

When Jane did see him, she observed him from afar, but never with much concentration, only when she saw him exit her favorite bookstore or when she saw him smoothing out his fingers over a street artist's telecaster. His dark curls were a stand-out contrast to his pale skin and an even bigger contrast to her boyfriend's light, pin straight strands of hair. Her boyfriend was classic. He was unfamiliar.

She pretended that the unfamiliar side didn't stir something inside her.

She had met him on the first day of spring break, the streets slick with the aftermath of a light drizzle.

"Whatever stirs this mortal frame..." She had been mumbling under her breath, tracing a leaf off a tree branch that she had to duck under to continue her walk. "All are but ministers of love."

"And feed his sacred flame," a voice finished for her.

She glanced up, eyes only slightly bright with curiosity. He spoke again before she could even separate her lips that had fallen shut.

"Reciting Coleridge in the middle of the streets?"

She blushed.

He brushed past her with a small smile playing at the corner of his lips, and she felt nothing resembling comfort and she got lost in the feeling that had spattered inside her. She would've defended his presence to anyone who spoke in hushed tones about him, she really would've, but she found she was the only one who had a pleasing first experience with him, so she kept quiet.

"Jane reading Jane, hmm?" he had asked her one day, approaching where she was sitting cross-legged on a bench.

"Jane reading Jane," she affirmed.

"Mansfield Park?" he inquired, gently picking up the copy out of her hand and marking her page before flipping through the rest.

"Yeah, I'm rereading it," she responded, voice speaking up in a soft manner once she trusted it to be as such, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. "I read it when I was twelve, but I didn't understand a word of it and I forgot about it until I heard the title in a movie the other day."

He chuckled at that and a smile formed across her face without her permission and she willed the butterflies in her stomach to stop fluttering so hard.

"I'll have to borrow it when you're done."

"As long as you return it unharmed, I'll bring it to you when I'm done," she said, hands falling into her lap as she fidgeted with the rings on her fingers.

"I'll hold you to that."

He held her to it, and it became a routine, and she wondered if she was doing it to be polite or whether it was an excuse to see him over and over again. She found she didn't really care which, as long as she had a reason to drop what she was doing to be in his presence.

Her boyfriend didn't like him. Didn't like that he was competing with a guy who had the same interests as Jane, read the same books as Jane, had the same smarts as Jane. He didn't like that he was competing with a guy who was six foot one and didn't like that he wore a leather jacket.

Countless arguments. Countless words being thrown at each other, his name in the midst of all of it and whenever he was brought up the argument seemed to fall because she couldn't focus on what he was saying when her mind was screaming mike mike mike mike mike.

"How come you're only ever nice to me?" she asked him one day. Her arms crossed and then uncrossed in front of her as she followed where his eyes' focal point had landed, a swan moving smoothly across the surface of the lake they were sitting in front of. She turned back to him and waited for a response.

"Everybody's the same in this damn town," he responded after a few silent beats of time, still maintaining his gaze on the swan.

"And that includes me?" she asked softly, searching for his eyes to meet her own. Her voice trembled slightly (and that was slightly too much). She was about to get up and leave and chastise herself for thinking he might've enjoyed her company, before a sigh sounded from his direction.

He finally met her gaze, tongue wetting his lips as his black met her hazel.

"On the contrary."

She preferred when it was dark outside, when the world was quiet and the not-so-busy streets weren't filled with chatter, useless chatter, that she somehow managed to maintain a contribution in. Everybody was the same in this damn town and she never noticed it before, and that was the moment she realized she looking to spot him in the chatter-filled streets every time she went out and she found herself upset when she was unsuccessful in spotting him.

She was sitting on her bed, copy of The Odyssey placed between her hands. The clocked ticked only a few moments past ten before pebbles were thrown at windows and giggles slipped past lips as she told him her dad wasn't home and she would let him in through the front door.

"Come in."

He followed her to the kitchen, and he licked his lips as she opened the fridge doors and then held up two cans, one of root beer and one of Coca Cola, signaling him to pick one.

"Wow, this is the exact plot of Sophie's choice," he said, sarcasm dripping through his tone.

There was raspiness woven in there along with the sarcasm and all of a sudden she was having a hard time standing still.

"Shut up and choose," she said, laughing and placing them on the counter next to him, turning around and closing the refrigerator.

The phone rang loudly and she jumped a bit too high for someone who wasn't lost in thought.

She didn't mind when his hands brushed as they both reached for the phone.

"Yeah, 'cause my dad's totally going to want to hear your voice right now," she said, not bothering to fight the smile this time.

"Oh yeah?" he responded not even two beats later, face serious with the exception of the hints of a smirk playing across his features, eyebrows raised. His voice was as gentle as she had ever heard it before.

She didn't mind that he stared her right in the eyes as he said that, and this time she didn't mind the flutter that made itself present in her stomach.

"Hey dad." Her back was turned to him as the cold phone pressed against her skin, only half paying attention to what he was saying. Something about getting caught up in the storm (there's a storm? she thought) and not being able to make it home tonight and she told him she loved him too before hanging up.

Her back remained turned away from him for a little while after she hung up and she felt his eyes burning into her and her breath hitched and she definitely didn't mind the feeling of flames igniting across her skin in the cold stare of her kitchen light.

"He says he can't make it home tonight because of the, uh," she gestured her hand towards the window, turning around to face him, "the storm."

He glanced at where her hand was waving before turning back to her, licking his lips and when his eyes met hers again she pretended she didn't notice how they flickered towards her lips at the same time the lights had flickered around them.

"Oh, okay," he finally spoke, brushing past her.

"Where are you going?"

"Candles."

"What?"

"Where are your candles?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"Oh, uh, in the living room," she stuttered, and she cursed herself for that damn tremble that always decided to put itself to work when he was around. He nodded once and returned a moment later with a few candles; one pink, one white, two red.

She watched as he lit them with a lighter he had pulled from his pockets and it clicked in her mind as to why he always smelled like cigarette smoke. She hated smokers, hated that they did it out in the open and blew it in people's faces and hated the smell and hated that that they didn't care. Suddenly she didn't hold that hatred anymore.

The lights flickered on off on off on off on off on and she willed her breathing to return to normal as he sucked on the tip of his finger he had caught lightly in the flame.

The silence was heavy in the air as she stared at the ground and he held his stare on her, the rain pouring harder and harder as the seconds whirled past, the pattering against the window growing in intensity and she noted silently that it resembled her heartbeat.

"Mike-"

His lips crashed harshly against hers just as the lights cut out, callused palms tangling in her hair as her body was pushed against the edge of the kitchen table. His lips were chapped and tasted like coffee and cigarettes and she never felt more intoxicated in her whole seventeen years of life. He pulled away every so often to let her catch her breath but it didn't do much good as he came back rougher each time, groans slipping past her lips and into his.

His tongue was like velvet as it slid across her bottom lip, tracing constellations across her skin and marking her like an empty sky as it made its way towards her neck. The hand lost in her hair pulled back to expose more smooth skin to him and she couldn't help the gasp that she exhaled.

"Thou art more lovely and more temperature," he muttered against her skin, lips now pressing down and nipping just below her ear, and he sighed contentedly against her when he felt her whimper and felt her back arch against the hand that was tracing his initials against her hip.

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May." He travelled further down her neck, and her fingers were grasping at his shirt like she would die if she let go.

"And summer's lease hath all too short a date," she whispered, words coming out just as his lips pressed against her collarbone, and she couldn't help how her hips bucked up against him, fingers gathering more fabric in her hands. She felt him smile against her as she finished his words, and he brought his mouth back to hers and everything was hot and cloudy and her mind was foggy and she didn't realize how she kept her hold on his shirt even as his lips detached themselves from hers, hovering over her as he watched her eyes fluttered open.

And so it began.

Jane greeted her dad the next day with a hug and she strategically avoided the kitchen and went straight up to her room, attempting to lose herself in the book she had left forgotten the night prior. Her attempt was unsuccessful, the words on the page only swirled with thoughts of heat and fire and burning desire.

He acted as though nothing happened, and if she wanted to say anything (she did) she didn't.

At one point in her youth she had wished to be those in books, wished to experience a fairytale like Alice, wished to have someone understand her as deeply as Lecter did Starling. She wished to be a lover like Lolita, and while others wished to not be perceived, she wished she would be, wished she would be perceived in a pale pink light, red hearts casted in the emptiness of book margins and school notes, sweet words and inferences and perceptions scribbled in black ink.

She caught herself missing the taste of him, whether she was in her room, finger drawn to her lips as she struggled to remember what they felt like against hers, or if she was speaking with him somewhere in town.

"I'm sorry," she said in between giggles. "I just can't stand Hemingway."

"God, I knew you were lacking taste, Jane, from the moment I met you," Mike said, shoving her playfully as he placed money on the counter. She bit her lip at the usage of her name in the sentence, and she pretended she wasn't going to fantasize about him saying her name in a different context later.

She saw his eyes harden and his back straighten and she was about to question him before she felt hands on her waist, and she had to keep an expression of disappointment off her face.

"Hey, Jane," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Hi, babe," she said quietly, cringing before the words even left her mouth, looking up in time to witness the scoff leaving Mike's mouth. The grip on her waist tightened.

"So, what were you two talking about?" her boyfriend asked, teeth notably grinding together as his hands caressed her sides. It felt wrong, having his hands on her, when Mike's had been there a few days prior. She hated the way she didn't want anyone else to touch her like that, didn't want anyone else to claim her lips as their own, didn't want anyone being able to leave her dizzy without going further than a kiss. She hated it because he wasn't hers, she had a boyfriend who was hers.

Regardless of the fact, Jane knew she was Mike's. Even if he wasn't hers.

"Oh, just our favorite poems," she said quickly, and she didn't even know why she was lying, but it just seemed easier to say than explain the complexity of their actual conversation, and it seemed like the easiest way to avoid a fight with him, because Jane knew fully well he would get jealous and then mad if he didn't understand the concepts in which they were talking about.

She figured Mike caught onto that when she noted him lifting his eyebrows and then lowering them within the blink of an eye, and remained quiet as she continued talking with her boyfriend.

"Oh," he said. "And what was yours?"

"Sonnet 18," Mike said before she could, not even hiding his grin, and before she knew it the bell of the diner had rung and he was out the door.

Her cheeks coated themselves a deep shade of red as she finally understood why he said that.

_"Thou art more lovely and more temperature," he muttered against her skin, lips now pressing down and nipping just below her ear, and he sighed contentedly against her when he felt her whimper and felt her back arch against the hand that was tracing his initials against her hip._

_"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May." He travelled further down her neck, and her fingers were grasping at his shirt like she would die if she let go_.

"God, he's rude, how can you stand that jerk?" her boyfriend asked once he had released his hold on her waist, stepping in front of her and glaring at the door Mike had just walked out of.

"I'm not sure," she said quietly, staring at the door as well.

"It's like everything he says has some underlying meaning behind it," he said.

Still not meeting his eyes, she allowed herself to suck her bottom lip between her teeth. "You have no idea."

The next time she saw him was two days later, and she never knew it was possible to miss a person that badly. He took her to his house this time, and he led her up to his room.

"Where are your parents?" she asked, tracing her fingers along the various books stuffed into his bookshelf.

His room was coated with dark, gray walls that matched his comforter, posters of his favorite bands hung up, barely leaving any of the walls empty. Everything in there seemed so fitting, and it was almost exactly how she imagined it, even down to the ashtray on the nightstand next to his bed.

"They're never really home," he said, watching with amusement as she would make soft sounds of excitement when she saw a book she liked.

She sensed his presence behind her, and her breath caught in her throat and she felt his hot breath against her. His hand brushed hers as he grabbed the book she was holding and shoved it back into its place on the shelf and wasted no time spinning her around and making his desperation known as he kissed her with equal intensity to the first time they had done this.

"Mike," she breathed out against his lips and God she knew then she never wanted to let go of him again. She laced her hand with one of his, almost whining when he let go before she was lifted off the ground and placed onto his bed. She sunk into the mattress as she felt him crawling over her, chest rising and falling, anticipation filled with each inhale and exhale.

"You're beautiful," he said softly, and she had never heard him use that tone before and it made her breathing become erratic.

He was drinking her in like she was a cool glass of water on a summer day, watching her swollen lips part when he brushed a hand across her face. He used his thumb to toy with her bottom lip, and he realized she lifted her chin against him, pressing herself against his hand to get closer to him. She noticed his breath caught in his throat when she whispered his name, but didn't have much time to think about it because he didn't wait much longer before replacing his thumb with his lips.

Her boyfriend had never touched her like this, she realized, and she never wanted him to. She shouldn't be allowing Mike to touch her like this when she had a boyfriend she had promised she was committed to, but how could she say no when his lips molded against hers so perfectly?She couldn't say no when his hand gripped her waist, thumb rubbing circles as his finger pads pressed further into her.

"I need you," she mumbled, and he paused for a single second before he kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then her neck, then her collarbone and then her breast.

"Take me."

Jane realized she didn't have much in common with her boyfriend anymore. It dawned on her as he was droning on and on about basketball, when she wanted to talk about was her new writing assignment for school. She also realized she hesitated on the term 'anymore' when the thought first crossed her mind. Did they ever have much in common? Or did she warp her interests to align with his?

She wasn't happy with him, either. She wasn't sure if she ever was, or if she was comforted by him, and the more she thought about the differences between those, the less blurry the line became.

He had reminded her of books she read in her youth, reminded her of her dreams to be Alice, Clarice, Lolita. The more she compared herself to the three, the more she realized she was glad her life wasn't a classic novel. She had long since grown from the comfort of classics to the thrill of unfamiliarity.

"Hi babe," he said as he greeted her, moving in to kiss her mouth, but she turned her head and he ended up landing on her cheek instead. She glanced down so she could miss the embarrassment that struck his face when she did so.

"We need to talk." A look of understanding dawned upon him, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling.

They broke up.

"We broke up," Jane said, and before the words even left her mouth he was grabbing her wrist and pulling her inside his house and shoving her against the door and capturing her in a rough, open-mouthed kiss.

The town was shocked, her dad was furious, her now ex-boyfriend was even more furious and he yelled at her when he caught her walking home one day, called her vile names and humiliated her. It was a small crowd he decided to give that speech in front of, but it was humiliating none-the-less, and even more so when she remembered how quickly word spread around this damn town.

_"Everybody's the same in this damn town.”_

But everyone adjusted, and they got used to a mess of curls being acquainted with her instead of the boy she had been with for two years.

She didn't feel comforted, but that was her favorite part, and she didn't understand how she had lived a so called picture perfect life before. Everything about Mike was a fresh canvas for her to explore, and she found herself diving into him like he was her favorite book.

She decided he was the best part of her when they were in front of the lake, sun making his face glow, and she pressed a soft peck to his lips because he looked so pretty and he was hers and that was all she really needed to be content.

Classics are overrated, anyways.

❃

**Author's Note:**

> Not proofread, just felt like writing.


End file.
